Detached
by carinims01
Summary: Five times Murdock felt completely and utterly alone... and one time he didn't. Rated T. No Slash.
1. Inverted Tactics

Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team, unfortunately.

Hello! So, guys, this is my first "Five Times" formatted story! However, it's not exactly set up like one. See, I know that most of them use five completely unrelated scenes, but this story has five scenes that correspond to the same mission. The scenes won't pick up exactly where they left off, but they'll be linear and all involve the same subject matter. Anyway, I really hope you guys like it. Special thanks to my friend CaptainOzone, here on FF, for beta-ing this for me. :)

Enjoy:

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**Chapter 1: Inverted Tactics**

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The sunlight glinted off the windows of the dark building at just the right angle to momentarily blind the Captain. He swallowed, trying to suppress his anxiety as he curled his slender fingers in his pocket. Narrowing his eyes, he adjusted the square-framed glasses on his nose, trying to ignore the headache throbbing in beat with his pulse from the prescription lenses.

With every step, the small private building on the corner drew closer. Only a handful of people milled about on the sidewalk; only one other person was garbed in a business suit akin to his own, and he was walking towards the suburban brick structure just a few yards in front of him.

"_Keep this pace. You don't want to look too eager, Murdock."_

Hannibal's voice was croaky and distant through the small communicator tucked into his ear, but the Captain heard him and clenched his jaw, trying not to appear nervous. "'Eager' isn't the word I'd use_,_ Colonel," he muttered back.

The pilot cleared his throat, thinking back on all the information they had. No, eager definitely wasn't a word he'd use. It had taken them two days to find Gregory and another eight hours to find out his involvement with the Russian drug smugglers. Of course, it was just Murdock's luck to find out that Gregory was meant to be their pilot across two states. Naturally, that singled him out to take the Russian's place.

He'd gone undercover before. Dozens of times, actually. He should be used to this; he shouldn't be this nervous, but then again, he'd never gone undercover for a drug-smuggling mud-sucker who was known for putting bullets in people's heads at point blank. The guy they were going up against was far worse than all the mobsters they'd went up against before, combined, and Murdock was expected to infiltrate his operation and report back.

"_Just stay cool, kid. We'll keep close."_

Murdock sighed and bobbed his head before crossing the street. Childish laughter floated down the street, and the pilot resisted the urge to glance in their direction. He had to stay focused.

The man in front of him had reached the door by now, and Murdock slowed his pace just a tab bit, pretending to be captivated by a blue jay he spotted in a tree next to the building as he strolled. The guard at the door stuck his hand out, stopping him, and the men's soft voices drifted down the sidewalk, indistinguishable and obscure.

A few seconds later, the pinstriped suit disappeared through the doorway, and almost immediately, Murdock hear the Colonel's voice in his ear again.

"_The codeword is foxbane, Murdock. Got it?"_

The pilot continued walking at his normal pace, pretending not to hear the voice whispering in his ear. He tucked his chin in, looking at the passing cracks in the sidewalk. "Got it, Hannibal. Foxbane's the key to Wonderland, and I'm nearly at the rabbit hole."

In his mind's eye, the Captain saw Hannibal smirking and shaking his head with amusement, Faceman glancing down with humor-filled irises, and B.A rolling his eyes, grunting something about him being a fool.

The Colonel's smile was evident in his answering voice. _"Talk to me when you're inside, Captain. Lay low." _

"Over and out," he replied, using the deep British accent he'd picked up when he saw James Bond in "Never Say Never Again" at the VA. He'd watched it three times, but he'd mastered Sean Connery's deep timbre within the first few minutes.

He glanced at the bulky man at the door, licking his lips as his fingers flexed in his pocket. His other hand swung casually at his side, but he bent his elbow as he climbed the set of stairs leading to the door. Murdock said nothing, keeping his features strict and plain, waiting for the guard to make his move.

A thick arm swung out in front of him, garbed in a black suit. Murdock paused, taking in the man's childish face and bald head. The Russian's fingers trailed down the right hem of his suit, and he pulled it back just enough for the Captain to see the textured handle of a black gun, strapped to his side by a leather holster.

Murdock did his best not to smile grimly and fixated a bored expression on his face, frowning.

"Password?" the man said bluntly.

The pilot rolled his eyes, putting on the cocky and arrogant countenance Gregory had displayed. He prepared his best Russian accent and mumbled, "Foxbane."

A rush of fear ran through him when the Russian didn't immediately respond, but when he finally let his arm fall, allowing him access, Murdock inwardly sighed with relief. He pushed the door open, and almost immediately, a wave of cold air hit him from a blasting air conditioning unit. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darker room, but he analyzed each of the eight men around him regardless. Each of them were Russian, varying in size and strength, and the pilot was sure that each of them were packing guns. There were about a dozen tan folding chairs set up in front of a black chalkboard on the right side of the room. On the left, there was a short table of snacks and drinks in front of a curtain-veiled window. The pilot casually strolled to the table, dipping his head as he spoke.

"I'm in."

The real alarm hit him when the Colonel didn't respond even after several moments of silence. He was supposed to stay in contact at all times. If Hannibal wasn't answering, it meant that either he and the team were in trouble, or the Russians had somehow blocked communications. Neither option was favorable, and the pilot's eyes darted around the room nervously.

"Hannibal," he hissed.

"А вы кто?" (1)

The pilot whipped around, swallowing nervously as his able mind translated the Russian words. His fluency in Russian was another reason he'd been singled out for going undercover. Faceman knew a broken sentence here and there since he'd dated a Russian model once, but he was far from fluent.

"Ivan Gregory," he answered, trying to keep the anxiety from his eyes. "И сами?" (2)

"Richard Vinchof. You are pilot, yes?"

Murdock cocked his eyebrow at the man's broken English and adjusted his glasses. "Yes."

What disturbed him, though, was the sly smile that pulled at Vinchof's thin lips after he'd answered. "Good. Syd, Leif, держать его." (3)

The pilot took a few steps backward, his eyes widening, before two strong men grabbed with of his arms, holding him in place. The blond on his left scowled at him, and the dark-haired man on his right sneered with disgust.

"What's going on here?" he asked frantically, thrashing in the men's hold.

Vinchof grinned, eyes glinting menacingly as he pulled out a syringe filled with blue liquid. "It is not nice to lie to people, sir. I had worked with Ivan Gregory before, and you are not him. The only question is, who are you?"

"I'm-I'm just some guy... I heard you needed a pilot and..."

Flicking the needle, the Russian forcefully flipped his arm over; another man came over and rolled up his sleeve. The rest of the group looked on with varying degrees of amusement and spite. "Does not matter anyway. You won't remember this happening, after all."

Vinchof's hold on his wrist tightened, and Murdock's breaths came in ragged gasps of air as he struggled, panic rushing through him. He was most definitely not in Wonderland, and there was no way to contact the guys to let them know he was in trouble. He tried anyway.

"_Hannibal!"_

There was a slight prick as the needle pierced his flesh, and cold rushed through his body as the liquid, whatever it was, pulsed through his bloodstream.

In seconds his body grew tired and limp; Murdock felt himself falling heavily into the Russians' strong arms before they lowered him to the ground. His mind grew foggy, and his head throbbed as his vision flashed with spots of white. The world spun and blurred, and Murdock's fingers curled into a loose fist at his side as he desperately fought whatever was coursing through him.

"W-wait..."

He tried to sit up, feeling numbness overwhelm his being as the room pulsed between light and dark colors, sometimes bleeding into each other before snapping back with perfect clarity. Murdock barely felt his back crash back onto the floor.

"I don't think we'll be seeing each other again," Vinchof muttered above him, carefully pulling out a bulky object from beneath his jacket.

Terror, strong and hot, flashed through him like a heatwave as the object took form. It was a gun. Again, he tried to sit up, and again, he didn't feel himself fall back down. His senses were weakening, and it took a painstaking amount of effort to even stay conscious.

But even that became too difficult.

His body stopped trembling as he was pulled down, finally sucomming to the darkness that awaited him as his eyelids slid shut, finally breaking his fearful stare at the object held tightly in the Russian's hand. His head fell to the side as he exhaled heavily.

The last thing Murdock heard was a muffled gunshot.

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Russian: Translated by Google

(1) And who are you?

(2) And yourself?

(3) Hold him.

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Well, I hope you guys liked it! I'll probably upload the next chapter in a week or so, so stay tuned. ;) Drop a review if you have the time-I always love getting feedback from readers. Thank you all for reading! Talk to you soon. :)


	2. Bitter Truth

Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team

Heyo! I wanted to thank you guys real fast for the reviews-they made my day. Thank you all so much for reading and taking the time to leave a review, and I hope you continue to enjoy this. This chapter gets pretty emotional; it was definitely one of my favorites to write. ;)

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**Chapter 2: Bitter Truth**

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Somewhere to his right, there was a distant rhythmic beeping noise. It was slow but steady, almost comforting, and the pilot sucked in a breath of air as he awoke. He exhaled slowly, relishing the warmth in his body and the comfortable weight resting on him.

Murdock cracked his eyes open, only to snap them closed once more as bright light assaulted his irises. Groaning softly, the pilot's fingers twisted into the thick material covering his lower body as he shifted his position. His body protested immediately, sending a shot of burning agony through his right side, originating from his ribs, before it faded into an echoing throb. Murdock gasped and furrowed his brow, attempting once more to open his eyes.

Forcing his eyes to focus despite the blinding light, he saw that his legs and feet were covered in a soft white blanket that flowed over the edge of the wide mattress. Two handles rose up from the sides of the bed, thick, smooth and grey; the wall across from him was an eggshell blue with white trim, and there were several sheets of paper tacked to a corkboard with typed text too small to read.

Craning his head to the right, he noticed a beige machine rising above his head, a single red line creating a continuous path of hills and valleys, beeping with each dip. There were numbers on another machine next to it, but Murdock didn't take the time to try to understand what they meant.

"Hello?" His voice, however, didn't exceed more than a husky whisper_. "Hello?"_

Murdock's throat was drier than he could ever recall it being, and he grimaced as he shifted again, blinking rapidly as his head began to throb. The light hurt his eyes, and his breathing grew ragged and harsh as he tried to sit up, fighting the agony running through his body.

Where was he? What had happened to him? Where was the team?

He flopped back down on the bed, whimpering as a hot knife cut through his temple, physically disabling him. The pilot pulled up his knees, feeling like he was going to retch when he finally heard a frantic _click _of heels against a tile floor. He groaned, noticing an arduous pull on his arm as he tried to move it. Craning his neck, he found a thin tube connected to needle that had been pushed into the crook of his arm. Absently, his eyes followed the tube up to a clear bag of liquids on a hook.

"Captain? Sir, are you awake?"

Murdock twisted his head again, closing his eyes momentarily. He hummed in response, and when he opened his eyes again, a woman with piercing grey eyes and thick brown hair stood beside him, running her eyes over the machines next to him. She looked to be in her late forties and wore a knee-length dress and a white lab coat; there was only the slightest bit of color on her thin lips, but other than that, she wore no makeup. Strictly business, then. Faint traces of cheap perfume and generic shampoo, so different than the high-quality stuff Faceman got, drifted towards him as she moved. By the confidence in her walk and her stance, Murdock guessed that she was not only a doctor: she was the one in charge, and she knew it.

The doctor turned towards him, checking over the IV inserted into his arm and the assisted breathing tube on his upper lip, which he hadn't noticed. "Mr. Murdock, how are you feeling?"

Murdock swallowed thickly, coughing to clear his throat. His eyelids fluttered before the lip of a cup was pressed to his lips.

"Slowly," she advised, tipping the cup as he drank greedily. "Now, Captain, how're you feeling?"

"Lousy," he answered. "Side... hurts."

She nodded at him, glancing over his chest before her steely grey eyes caught his gaze. "I'll have a nurse bring you some medicine," she said easily. "Do you know where you are?"

Murdock tried to shake his head, but another stab of pain ran down his neck; he grimaced. The doctor, though, seemed to understand.

"You're at County General Hospital, Captain. In the Intensive Care wing. My name is May Johnson."

"What-what 'm I doin' here, Doc?" he asked groggily. "Where-where..."

Something akin to sympathy shone in her eyes as her thin fingers curled around the bed handle. "You were found in an alley, Captain, with two broken ribs and a sprained ankle. There were toxins in your bloodstream—a powerful sedative. Not meant to kill you, only cause unconsciousness and temporary memory loss. Care to explain what happened?"

Murdock clenched his eyes shut against his building headache, struggling to remember anything past the nausea and exhaustion coursing through his body. "I can't... don't... remember."

Johnson nodded at him with understanding, pressing the backs of her fingers to his forehead. "Well, your fever broke. That's a good sign. The toxins are still leaving your body, but it's going to take you a while to remember anything."

"How-how do you... know I'm a Captain?"

She gave him a small smile, blinking as she pushed one hand in her pocket. "When we found you, we just called you John Doe until we got your fingerprints back from the lab. Captain H.M. Murdock, correct?" When he nodded, the nurse continued. "A Dr. Richter is driving down to see you. He should be here by tomorrow morning if traffic holds. He'll have a lot of questions for you, Mr. Murdock. Me too, once your memories return. For now, though, just rest."

She turned to leave, but a fleeting thought caused Murdock's fingers to catch hers before they left the railing. Genuine worry filled his brown eyes, and he asked, "Doc, wait, my friends... Did...? Are they here?"

Again, empathy filled her eyes. She turned away, taking a deep breath as if to steady herself before the doctor turned back to him, swallowing. "No, Captain, they're not. They did stop by once we figured out who you were, but they had to leave for something important."

Murdock wasn't sure if it was the way her shoulders tensed as she spoke, or the careful way she chose her words, but fear rushed through his heart and put him on edge. "Ma'am, what aren't you telling me?" he asked slowly. "Where are they now? Exactly how long have I been here?"

"Captain, we really shouldn't discuss this now, not in your condition. Rest, and then we'll talk."

She pulled her hand away, out of the pilot's reach, but he asked again, his voice sharp and filled with anxious pain. _"Doc,_ how long have I been here? Please."

Johnson paused, folding her hands in front of her and examining her untrimmed fingernails. Hesitation was written across her face, but after a moment, it faded into reluctant acceptance. "Mr. Murdock, the sedative they gave you was quite potent. It suppressed your respiratory system, so much so that at first we believed you were in a coma." She bit her lip before responding. "Captain, today is Saturday the ninth. You've been here nearly a week. You've been unconscious the whole time."

Murdock bit back the ever-rising panic that threatened to overtake him. A _week_. The mission was already over; he didn't know where his guys were. Did they complete the mission? Did they make it out okay without him? _What happened? _Closing his eyes, he focused on keeping his breaths even and deep before he asked his next question. "What about my friends? Where are they?"

Johnson broke eye contact again, looking down at the floor as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Um..."

_"Please_," he begged. His voice broke, and he swallowed past the thick lump of mixed emotions in his throat. "Are they alright?"

"H.M., I'm sorry, but your friends are dead. They... died two days after you were admitted."

Panic was becoming too close a friend. Murdock's chest tightened, and he ripped off the assisted breathing tube below his nose as he lunged forward. He cried out loud as pain shot through him from his ribs, breaths coming in ragged gasps as every memory of his friend's raced through his head.

"Nurse! Bring me a sedative!"

Face—his brother. His blond hair. Compassionate blue eyes. His handsome face and unmatched charm and wit. His sarcasm. His jokes. The little pats on the back; the worry in his voice; the soft, reassuring tones that had gotten him through thousands of troubling situations.

Hannibal—his CO and father figure. His sharp mind. White hair. Blue eyes. His love for high-quality cigars. His ridiculous plans that never worked _right,_ but worked. His calm voice. The protectiveness that ran through his eyes when his boys were in trouble. The smile he got when he was on the jazz.

B.A.—his best friend. His deep eyes. His dark mohawk. His gold. His brute strength. His street smarts. His love for the van. His loyalty towards his team. His dedication. The hardness in his voice when one of the guys were in trouble. The determination to make sure they were all safe.

Gone.

They were all gone.

Strong arms grabbed him; not Johnson, but two men. The Captain, though, was barely aware of it. They pushed him back down on the bed, and all the while, Murdock flailed against their hold, hot tears streaming down his face as he shouted his friend's names, emotional agony thickly lacing his voice. Something stung his bicep, and moments later, the world blurred and darkened as he was forcefully dragged into unconsciousness.

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Yeah, angst is definitely one of my favorite genres. Thanks for reading, guys. I'll talk to you soon. :)


	3. Unadulterated Grief

Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team, unfortunately.

Hi! Another quick thank you for all the reviews. You guys are so encouraging, so thank you. :)

Enjoy:

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**Chapter 3: Unadulterated Grief**

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"How're you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Do your ribs hurt?"

"No."

"Your head?"

The pilot sighed, blinking lazily as he stared at the ceiling. "Doc, I feel fine. 'm fine."

Dr. Johnson lifted her head up from her clipboard, frowning deeply as she hugged the medical report to her chest. Her grey eyes showed no emotion, but Murdock could sense her impatience. "Mr. Murdock, I am sorry about your friends. Truly, I am. But you are my patient. It's my job to make sure you're okay, and if you won't cooperate..."

Automatically, hot tears pushed against the backs of his eyes, and he turned his head away from her. It had been half an hour since he'd woken up, and his self-control was already waning. He took a deep breath, pushing his tears back before turning back to her. "Ma'am, I'm fine. Honestly, all I feel is_ numb." _

"You're grieving," she clarified. "I understand, but I need you to tell me what's wrong if you're to heal."

Murdock swallowed thickly, locking his gaze on the ceiling once more, examining every crack, every fissure, every chip in the acoustic tile ceiling—anything to keep his mind off his friends.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he answered moments later.

May Johnson didn't know his team—his family. She could try to understand, pretend to be sympathetic, but that wasn't what they deserved. They deserved to be recognized as the heroes they were, and they couldn't even be remembered as that. Not while they were wanted by the government.

They would be remembered as the A-Team: the ones who were on the run for over a decade for a war crime that would have to be explained, re-explained, and thoroughly thought out before anyone could even understand it. And why? Because no one _cared _about a bank robbery, in which no one was seriously hurt, that happened in another country.

But still, they'd been labeled as criminals, "armed and dangerous," wanted by the government.

Nothing would change that.

Murdock briefly wondered if they would even get an honorable burial.

Sure, their former clients would remember them in a good light—the ones who knew them personally—but even then, they didn't know them like Murdock did. Ever since he'd met them, they'd been inseparable. They were the most known Special Forces team in Nam, and facing the danger, the fear, the adrenaline, the POW camp... All of it had made them a family.

And now he was alone.

He'd been unconscious for nearly a week, but he'd lost his family in the blink of an eye.

Would they have made it if he hadn't been caught? If he had been there with them?

Briefly, he wondered if Amy knew. She'd always been a good kid; she_ knew_ the team. She'd grown close to all of them—particularly Faceman. For the year she'd been with them, she'd fought the same enemies they had, the same battles. She'd become a little sister to the team, and she'd proven herself as valuable a member to the team as any of them. She_ deserved_ to know.

Had she tried to reach him at the VA? Should he call her?

No.

Johnson had said that Dr. Richter was due here the next morning. He knew the team too, and he knew Murdock's involvement with them. With everything that had happened, it wouldn't be difficult to convince the doctor to take him right to the reporter's house. Only then, when he was with his friends, people he trusted, his psychologist and the reporter, would he talk about how he felt. Only then would he allow himself to fall apart.

Johnson brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, nodding. "Okay. Did you want to talk to someone else here, Captain? We can call in another psychologist if you want."

"No, thank you," he muttered.

Frankly, he wasn't sure how he'd held on this long. He'd fantasized before what he would do if his friends died—how could he not, considering how many times they'd put their lives in danger—and he'd always imagined himself finally going off the deep end.

Since they'd shared the same bamboo cage in the POW camp, Faceman had been the one who'd held him together, and even then it'd been a challenge. He was constantly losing himself in his own head, drawing away from the others and zoning out the world; Face's compassionate voice brought him back to the real world, as horrifying as it was, and his tight embraces kept him grounded, so he wouldn't permanently be lost in his head.

After they'd escaped, that tedious job had been dispersed amongst the team, even when he'd been institutionalized they were somehow always there for him. Granted, Faceman was the preferred person to do it, by the team and by Murdock, both because of his experience in the POW camp and because of their close, brotherly relationship. The Lieutenant had a way about him—something that made Murdock _not _feel ashamed or embarrassed about his episodes, something calming, something loving.

Face had been the brother Murdock never had, and Murdock a brother in turn.

Now who would keep him grounded? Now who would be there for him?

Johnson nodded once more, picking at something on her lab coat before she stood, putting the clipboard in the crook of bent arm as she tapped her pen against it. "I'm sorry for your loss, Captain."

"Wait," he called. She turned back, glancing at the floor before she met his eyes. "What... What h-happened to them?"

The doctor swallowed, the wrinkles on her forehead increasing as she furrowed her brow. "I don't really know. Just what I saw on the news... Um... something with some Russian drug smugglers. There was an explosion, and several people were shot and killed. I'm sorry. They came in to see you when after we found out who you were. I really liked them. They cared about you a lot, especially the blond one. He refused to leave your bedside for a full twenty-four hours. I thought... I thought you should know."

The numbness he felt was slowly being worn away to raw and unadulterated grief. His eyes shone with unshed tears as he brokenly asked, "W-where are they n-now?"

"They said on the news that the military would be sending their bodies to LA for burial. That was a few days ago, so I assume..."

Los Angeles. At least he would be able to say a proper goodbye in a few days. He could ask their forgiveness for failing them and tell them that, no matter what, he would always love them, and he would always remember them.

Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith, who was so much more an old man with a cigar.

Lieutenant Templeton "Faceman" Peck, who would give someone the shirt off his back before he went out and scammed another one for himself.

Sergeant Bosco Albert "B.A." Baracus, whose softhearted kindness rivaled a teddy bear's.

"Thanks, Doc," he mumbled, turning his head to the side.

"Of course," she replied. "I'll give you some time alone."

Johnson's heels _click_-ed on the floor as she slowly strolled out of the room, and it was only when he heard the door close that Murdock rolled himself to the side, releasing a low sob. He unconsciously curled in on himself, trembling, and lifted his hands to cover his ears to block out the world as warm tears soaked into his pillow.

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I did also want to say that, though Murdock might seem OOC, please remember that, in the show, he never faced anything as dramatic as this. So naturally, he would be a little out of character, but I can see him reacting like this if he truly believed he'd lost his friends. Thank you all again! More chapters to come. :)


	4. Clarified Inquiries

Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team, nor any of its amazing characters.

Hello! Sorry for the late update; it's been a very long week. I can't really think of anything important I need so say, so I'll let you guys read. ;)

Enjoy:

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**Chapter 4: Clarified Inquiries **

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The assisted breathing tube and the IV had been removed once he'd been declared stable, as well as the heart monitor and the other machines that had monitored his condition. He was given strong meds for his ribs, which were healing nicely. His memories had returned within the last few hours, though he still didn't remember how his ribs were broken, so he guessed it'd happened after he'd been injected with the toxins.

"Captain?"

Murdock blinked, sucking in a breath of air as he turned his head. Johnson stood at the foot of his hospital bed, bathed in golden light from the setting sun, and the Captain's brown eyes, puffy and tired from crying, caught her gaze.

"There's a Colonel here who wants to ask you some questions about what happened. Or rather, what was supposed to happen. Is that alright?"

A Colonel. Thinning white hair, embers falling from a cigar, a smug grin and bright eyes.

It wasn't him; it couldn't be. But the thought was still there. The flash of hope was still there, despite how quickly it withered and crushed his heart.

Maybe the Colonel can answer could answer some of his own questions.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

The doctor nodded and disappeared momentarily before reappearing with a tall man no older than fifty. His hair was still brown, though there were some grey in his roots; his eyes were dark brown, and he had a thin, sloping nose. Complete opposite of Hannibal.

"Not too many questions, alright?" Johnson whispered, though it was still loud enough for the pilot to hear. "He's mentally unstable already, and now his friend's are dead. Come and get me if anything happens." She turned to him, her features strict and emotionless as she shoved her hands into her lab coat pockets. "Mr. Murdock, I'm going to leave you two alone."

The Captain blinked, and seconds later the doctor left, the door clicked shut behind her. Only then did the Colonel step forward, arm outstretched. Murdock shook his hand as he introduced himself.

"I'm Colonel Edward Roe," he said. His accent sounded vaguely southern. "I'm sorry to hear about your friends, son."

Murdock swallowed thickly, letting his hand fall to the side as Roe pulled his hand back. "Thanks. Me too."

The Colonel grabbed a chair from the opposite wall, clutching a manila folder under his arm as he dragged it to his bedside. "I'm sorry to have to do this, son, but the details of this operation are very unclear. Both the American and the Russian government are vying for answers."

"I understand," he lied.

It didn't matter anymore. His friends were dead. Why did they need answers?

"I'm going to ask you some questions. Just do your best to answer them, okay? It's alright if you don't know some."

Murdock nodded, letting his eyes close for a second as he gathered himself. "O-okay."

The Colonel flipped the manila folder open, pulling a pen from inside his formal uniform. "Let's start at the beginning, then, Captain. I'm aware that the A-Team hired themselves out as lone rangers, if you will, to help people. Who hired you doesn't matter right now; we can deal with that later. My first questions is: What were you doing when you were injected with the toxins?"

The pilot took a breath, hoping to clear his head. "I was um... Hannibal, that is, Colonel Smith, had a plan that I would... replace one of the Russians at their meetin'."

"And who were you to replace?"

"A guy named Ivan Gregory. He was a pilot, and since I'm the only pilot in the team, I was gonna his place. I got in okay; Hannibal was listenin' in for the passcode to the meeting from a bug we planted on the patio. But when I got in... They knew I was a fake 'n they drugged me with some stuff..."

"And what date was this?" he asked, scribbling some things on a sheet of paper.

Murdock licked his lips, feeling another headache growing behind his eyes. "That was Sunday. The, um... third. Dr. Johnson said I was admitted to the hospital on the fourth. And my friends... died on the sixth."

Glancing up at him, something unidentifiable flashed in Roe's eyes. "I'm sorry, son. It's never easy to lose a teammate. Much less three."

"Thanks."

"After you had infiltrated the Russians, how were you to contact your friends?"

"I was... um. We were supposed to meet up later that night—after I'd learned their plan. All we knew was where they were gonna make the exchange."

Roe nodded, flipping a page in the folder. "And where was that?"

"The Russians were gonna meet their partners on the docks. Pier 4, at ten in the mornin'. But we didn't know how they planned to transport the drugs, or who they were selling it to."

"And that's what you were supposed to find out?"

Nodding, Murdock sipped the cup of lukewarm water by his bedside.

"Do you have an idea of what the Colonel's plan of attack would have been?"

The pilot swallowed, flexing and unflexing his fingers nervously. It was an anxious tick Dr. Richter had pointed out during one of their session. "He... He was fond of a thing he called a 'half-pincer movement.' We used it in Nam a lot. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Faceman was the one who checked out the docks, so I'm not sure where they would have placed themselves, but it's a... It's pretty much a frontal attack, so they probably set up at the main entrance."

"Do you know how many men there would be?"

"Based on what Gregory told us, it was going to be a small operation. Two guys on the boat; two guys on the docks."

"So just four Russians?"

"Yeah," Murdock whispered.

Just four guys. How could everything had gone so wrong on the mission when there were only four guys? Hannibal could easily take two men at one; Faceman could probably take three at most; and B.A. could take four, alone. Not to mention the fact that they watched each other's backs, would have had automatic weapons, and, knowing Hannibal, would have had at least a dozen grenades. Granted, he didn't know_ how_ the Russians would be armed, but still…

_How could they be gone? _

He felt something warm slide down his cheek and immediately brought his hand up to wipe the tear away. A light blush tinged his skin, embarrassment flashing in his dark eyes. "Sorry."

Roe nodded before he started flipping the pen over the tips of his fingers. "That's alright, son. I think we're done here. Is there anything else you think I need to know?"

Murdock shook his head, sniffing.

"Do you have any questions for me?"

There was a moment of silence before the pilot nodded shortly. "Um... do you know exactly how they died? I mean... did they suffer?"

Roe looked down at his paperwork, sighing as he closed the folder. "No, Captain, I don't think they did. I don't know all the facts as to how they died, but I'm sure they didn't suffer."

"Dr. Johnson said th-that they were gonna be buried in LA."

"Yes, they are. And they had a proper burial, too, don't you worry. They may have been dubbed criminals, but they were still served the government honorably for many years."

Murdock looked down at his fingers, running his right thumb across the tip of his left forefinger. "Thank you."

"Of course. Oh, I did have one more question. We, uh... Did Smith or Peck have any immediate family members we should notify? We couldn't find anything in their files..."

"No, no, no," he answered. "Hannibal... I-I don't think he... He had a-a close friend, but I can't think of his info right now. Faceman... He did-didn't... No. No one."

Roe stood, straightening his uniform and putting the pen back into his inner pocket. He extended his arm again, and Murdock politely shook his hand. "Thank you, Captain. You've been very helpful."

The pilot bit his lip, trying to suppress the growing sorrow as the Colonel walked away.

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Only two more chapters left; thanks for reading! :)


	5. Unveiled Illusions

Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team, nor it's wonderful characters (which I'm enjoying right now on Netflix...)

Okay, so I really should apologize for not getting back to you guys when you reveiwed the last chapter. I read them all through my iPod, and it's awkward trying to reply to reviews on that. So, I do apologize, and I really do appreciate the reviews. They make my day. Thank you, guys, really. :)

Enjoy:

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**Chapter 5: Unveiled Illusions**

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The nurse brought the cart close to the bed, the wheels protesting under the weight. The smell of mass-produced scrambled eggs and under-buttered burnt toast drifted around the room. The smell, however, just reminded Murdock of the nausea swirling in his stomach.

"Good morning, sir," she said, smiling sweetly.

He forced himself to return her smile but stayed silent as she strolled towards the opposite wall. The nurse's fingers curled round the edge of an overbed table when someone called from a distance down the hallway. She turned towards the voice before twisting towards the pilot.

"I'm sorry. I'll be right back."

Murdock gave her a tight-lipped smile as she skipped out the door. Immediately, he let his eyes fall shut and exhaled a weary sigh. His fingers played with the hem of the tee shirt the hospital had given him to replace the ruined suit he'd came in. The sweatpants were a bit loose, but the shirt fit him just right.

He cracked his eyes open, inhaling deeply, and his eyes flickered over towards the tray of food. A rush of anxiety ran through him when his eyes landed on tinted grey pages and large, red lettered print set above small black text. A newspaper.

Would it contain anything about what happened to his guys? Would the information he'd told the Colonel yesterday be in it?

Soft voices flowed into the room from the hallway, coming closer as Murdock hesitantly reached for the paper. His ribs protested, and one of his hands settled on his side as his fingers curled around the bulk. Pulling it towards him, he fell back against the bed before opening it to see the full front article.

There was a picture of some rock-star he didn't know, talking about their sell-out show and the attention the small town had gotten because of it. The side-column advertised a car for sale; there was another advertisement for a local store, and the bottom column had the weather.

But...

The days of weather started with Wednesday. It was supposed to be partially cloudy with a light eastern breeze with rain later in the evening.

All of that was fine, but why would the weather begin with Wednesday the sixth when it was supposed to be Sunday the tenth?

Immediately, the unease he'd been feeling skyrocketed, and his eyes flashed towards the top of the paper. There, in small black text, was the date: Wednesday the sixth.

The voices outside sharpened with anger and seconds later, three people rushed through the door: the nurse, Dr. Johnson, and Colonel Roe.

Murdock's hollow eyes slowly rose to meet Johnson's piercing gaze. He couldn't imagine the look of betrayal on his own face, but her lips were pressed in a thin line; she glared at him with a malice he couldn't begin to understand. Roe's hard eyes bore holes in him, and from the rigidity of his stance, the pilot knew he was readying himself for a fight. The nurse, however, looked flabbergasted; Murdock came to the conclusion that she wasn't involved.

"You lied to me," he said flatly. As he said those very words, the truth hit him like a smothering wave, and he sucked in a breath of air as he realized that they hadn't only lied about the date... They'd lied about his friends.

They were still alive. Hannibal, B.A., and Face were still out there, breathing, and very, very much alive.

His head whipped towards the clock behind them, a rush of fear shooting through him as he read it. Fifteen minutes 'til 10. He still had time to save them. He still had time to get to the docks.

Murdock bolted from the bed, ignoring the lightning bolt of pain that flashed through his body as his ribs moved. The nurse yelped, jumping to the side after Roe's hand disappeared into his jacket. The Captain rushed forward just as he yanked a gun from its holster, clenching his fist and swinging. He hit Roe, who definitely _wasn't _a Colonel, just under the ribs, stealing his breath from him. Murdock grabbed the gun from him, shoving Roe to the right as he side-stepped him, whipping around to train the gun on the three of them.

"Nurse," he said plainly, using his other hand to gesture to her to come forward. She did, slowly, breaths coming in fearful gasps, and the pilot grabbed her wrist, pulling her behind him. "Go to the hallway and wait for me."

Roe coughed, hand wrapped around his middle. "It's too late, Captain," he said. Johnson, beside him, glared at him. "It's too late," he repeated.

The Captain's jaw tightened as he slowly walked backwards. "You know, Faceman always said the basis of a good con is in the emotions. Well, you definitely conned me, but now it's my turn, you ugly mud sucker."

He stepped out into the hallway, fingers groping for the handle before they closed around it. Slamming it shut, he whipped around, knowing it was only a matter of time before the pair gained the courage to peek outside the door.

Murdock gripped the gun in his right hand, pointing it safely at the floor as his other hand gently gripped the nurse's shoulder. "Listen, I need you to call the police, okay? Have them arrested for kidnapping. Do—do you have a car?"

Her wild eyes whipped from the door to him before she answered, confusion lining her voice. "Yes—yes, a blue Cressida. It's in the parking lot out front."

"Keys?"

She shoved her hand in her pocket, pulling out a jangling keychain. Murdock didn't even think she was aware of what she was doing, or why, but he didn't have time to explain. He grabbed them from her and shoved the gun into her shaking hands before racing down the hallway, bare feet slapping the tiles.

"Call the police!" he yelled back.

People in the hallway jumped to the side as he bolted past, and others yelled at him to slow down as he followed the exit signs to the front door. He shoved it open, relishing the cool breeze on his skin and the fresh air that filled his lungs. He didn't take the time to appreciate it, however, as he scanned the parking lot. When his eyes locked onto a dark blue Cressida, he sprinted towards it.

He quickly unlocked it and jumped in, inserting the key and hearing the engine roar to life. Murdock was barely aware of his already throbbing feet as he shifted the car into reverse. The tires spun as he floored, and he felt himself skid as he slammed on the brakes. He jerked the car into drive, hoping he wasn't damaging the gear shift. He didn't linger on the thought, instead slamming his foot down.

The Captain barely stopped when he came to the exit: the traffic was thin, and Murdock was running on pure adrenaline. The first green light he ripped through, his eyes scanned the sign. McCormick. It took several seconds for it to register, but then he realized he was only a mile or so from the docks. Feeling a rush of hope, he smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks and pressed his foot down on the gas.

Roe and Johnson had had him convinced that today was a full four days since the accident and had asked him questions that would have been completely meaningless four days after the mission. It wouldn't have mattered, so they made him believe that his friends were dead, that the mission had failed, and that he was _alone_ just so they could obtain the information in his head.

Dr. Richter wasn't coming for him, the guys hadn't been buried in LA, and the mission wasn't over. Everything had been a carefully constructed lie. Yes, the Russians injected him with sedative toxins; yes, they'd dumped him in an alley.

But beyond that, Murdock thought that it had all been decadently planned. There was a third party.

The main gate was just ahead, and Murdock barely slowed the car as he sped through the open gates. He yanked the steering wheel to his right, gritting his teeth as he slid several feet. Murdock nearly lost his breath as his eyes landed upon his guys fighting the Russians. It wasn't that they were throwing punches or, in Face's case, taking punches, but the simple fact that they were _alive._

He slammed on the car brakes, putting the car in park and throwing the keys into his seat as he jumped out. Loose gravel dug into his feet as he sprinted towards his friend, but he ignored that, as well as the shooting pain from his ribs. Hannibal and B.A. looked like they were doing alright, so the pilot ran to his friend's side, pulling back his fist before punching the Russian Faceman was fighting in the stomach. He doubled over, and Murdock shoved him aside just as another Russian swung at him.

"_Murdock!"_

He ducked, barely glancing at Face as he grit his teeth in anger. There were definitely more men than they'd been lead to believe, but as long as his friends were alright, he didn't care. He kicked the Russian in the gut so hard that he stumbled backwards, falling off the pier and into the water. Whipping around, ready for more, the Captain saw that all the Russians were down, either too hurt to fight, or unconscious.

"You're alive..."

Three pairs of wide eyes stared at him full of shock and joy, and Murdock felt a rush of apprehension. As much as he was led to believe that _they_ were dead, they were led to believe that _he_ had...

Just after he'd been injected with the toxin, there'd been a gunshot. Now, Murdock reasoned that that was meant to make the team think he'd been killed in Vinchof's famous execution style, at point blank. It also meant that, since Vinchof had been the one to "kill" him, he and Roe and Johnson were all connected. They were the third party. Vinchof had turned on the Russians, his own people, and was working separately with the fake duo.

Faceman rushed him before he could even blink, his strong arms wrapping around him in a tight hug as hot tears fell from his lashes. The loneliness and grief and sorrow that Murdock had felt the past twenty-four hours came rushing back to him, and he hugged the conman back just as tightly, burying his face in his friend's neck.

The Lieutenant pulled back, sniffing as he gripped his friend's shoulders. "Murdock, we thought..._ I _thought..."

"I know," he offered in a watery voice. "I thought the same thing..."

B.A. stepped in front of him when the conman stepped away, pulling him into a suffocating hug. "I didn't think I'd ever be glad to see you, fool."

Choking, Murdock grinned. "Thanks, big guy."

Hannibal stepped forward, wrapping his arms around him tightly like a father would a son. "Captain, don't you ever scare me like that again."

The pilot smiled broadly as he pulled back, tears filling his eyes and warmth spreading through his chest as he scanned each of his friends. They were alive. They'd made it. They were together.

He wasn't alone.

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If you read my other stories, then you should already be aware that I love bromance, so of course I have to have that in this chapter. Don't worry, there'll be plenty in the final chapter as well. Thank you all for reading! :)


	6. Finale

Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team

I can't believe that this is the last chapter. It feels like I just posted the first chapter last week. Lol, anyway, I do hope you guys enjoy this. It's full of bromance. :) Oh, quick song suggestion. It's rather random, and it has nothing to do with this story, but go check out "Black Swan Song" by Athlete if you have the time. It's so fantastic. I'm kind of... listening to it on repeat; I have been for... like an hour. ;D

Enjoy:

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**Finale**

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A week passed, almost in mere seconds.

The mission was complete, and with Decker on their tail, the team had left the Russians bound and gagged on the docks with a sign displayed round their necks. "We're drug smugglers. Arrest us" would certainly get the Colonel's attention. As would the little side-note Murdock scrawled on the side telling him to go to County General for the others involved.

As it happened, the nurse the Captain had borrowed the car from had, in fact, called the police. When the pilot, along with Face, went to return the car, there were already black and whites surrounding the entrance. The young woman had, apparently, (because Murdock didn't want any credit for the capture), held at gunpoint two wanted criminals with outstanding warrants and a bounty on their heads.

Murdock and the conman had parked the car where he'd gotten it from and left the keys at the front desk while Face hid outside. After all, the pilot wasn't wanted by the MP's, and he had to return the car he had so hastily borrowed.

After that, however, the team hadn't let the Captain out of their sights. At least one of them was around him at all times, just for the sake of knowing he was there. Murdock didn't mind in the least; in fact, he got nervous if any one of them left _his_ sight. He had been convinced that they had all died, and now that he had them back, he was determined not to lose them again.

At Faceman's suggestion, they booked two adjoining hotel rooms in the next state over and planned a short vacation for them all to rest up. The mission had taken a lot out of the team, and they all needed some R&R. Besides that, Murdock still had sedatives running through his system, and his ribs were throbbing after exerting himself so much.

The pilot exhaled contently as one of the contestants on _Wheel of Fortune_ spun the wheel and bought a vowel. He'd already guessed the puzzle, and the following letters that were unveiled only solidified his guess.

The steady beat of the shower stopped, and the pilot momentarily glanced at the bathroom door, watching his friend's shadow bounce through the crack at the bottom of the door. Moments later, Faceman strolled out, wearing silk pajamas he conned from who-knows-where, scrubbing his head with the stark white towels provided for them. The con artist's eyes wandered around the room, and Murdock was heartened to see the brotherly affection rise in his irises when Face's eyes landed on him.

"_Wheel of Fortune_?" he asked, seating himself at the edge of the bed. Though there were two beds in their shared room, it was just so natural for the two to sit nearer each other.

Murdock yawned, blinking lazily before answering, "Yup. The answer's—"

"No, no," Face interrupted. "Let me try."

The pilot snorted, smiling with amusement at the determination on his friend's handsome features. "Go for it, Facey."

"Um... Cliches... Let's see... Sixteen letters, two 'T's, two 'A's..."

"Right."

"There's no way you got this already. There's only four letters up."

"Until we meet again," Murdock announced. "You know, like in those ol' romance things where the guy goes off to fight and he's all" —the pilot made his voice deeper and arched his eyebrow— "Until we meet again, my dear."

"Murdock, I told you to let me try!"

"Well, you weren't exactly thowin' anything out!"

Feining annoyance, Face threw his towel at his friend, finally smiling fully as the pilot pulled it from his face only to throw it back at the conman. The blond caught it with deft fingers, chuckling before he twisted it in his hands.

He glanced at Murdock, a gently smile on his face. "It's good to have you back, Murdock."

The pilot pushed himself up, crossing his legs beneath him as he eyed his friend. The beige pajamas brought out the natural highlights in Face's hair, especially the ones Murdock was sure would soon would turn silver. Faceman, by any chart, was still a young man; even younger at heart, and Murdock would proudly admit that he looked up to him as an older brother.

"It's good to be back," he smiled. His fingers kneaded the thin sheets beneath him, but he glanced up as he said, "Good to see you guys, too."

Face looked downwards, staring at his hands. Murdock watched as he bit his lip in hesitation, and when he spoke, softly, there was a an air of vulnerability around him. "Did... Did you really think we'd been killed?"

The pilot's eyes softened, and he lifted his eyes to examine the ceiling—something he'd done often when he was in the hospital—before he shook his head with indifference. "I mean... with our line of work... Anything could happen. And I didn't think they had—had any reason to lie."

Face nodded, watching the pilot anxiously knead the sheets. Sounds of some televised football game drifted through the door (they'd left it ajar) that lead to Hannibal and B.A.'s shared room, but the conman did his best to drown it out. He scooted closer to his friend, knowing from experience what it felt like to _think_ his friends were gone forever—but to _believe._.. That was a whole different story.

"We'd never leave you like that, buddy. We'd never leave you behind. After you went into that safe house, and we lost the comm..." The conman shook his head with disbelief. "Only a few minutes later we heard the gunshot..." Shrugging, Face sighed. "We couldn't storm the building—we didn't know who was shot or if anyone was, and we didn't want to blow your cover. So, we waited, scared to death, until everyone had left. Hannibal had me go right up to the front door to see if anyone was home while he and B.A. went to the back. You know, just a concerned citizen who heard a gun. When no one answered, I broke the door down. We... We didn't find a body, so we thought... Maybe you'd taken the kitchen door out. Or something. Maybe you'd get in touch with us somehow; I didn't know what to believe. I mean... we were already on a taut cord as it was..."

There were a few moments of somber silence before Murdock, in a deep, sober voice, said, "When—when I woke up... I didn't know w-what was... Johnson told me that whatever they'd given me would affect my memory, so I didn't even re-remember the safe house, or what happened. But... she told me that..." He waved his hand, furrowing his brow. "That it was a week later, and that—that you guys had... They were brilliant, too," Murdock added. "They asked me questions that, a week later, wouldn't matter to anyone."

"Details of the mission," Face clarified.

Pursing his lips, the pilot nodded. "They were clever, too. But cruel."

The conman smirked humorlessly. "Yeah. Along with a few other well chosen adjectives."

Murdock snorted, a genuine smile pulling at his lips. After a minute, however, it faded into a bittersweet smile. "I'd never been so happy to be wrong," he said softly.

Face nodded, clapping his friend's knee. "And you know that if we had... truly thought you were... We wouldn't have stopped for anything to find you. Just like in Nam—we go out together..."

"...Or we don't go out at all," Murdock finished. "I know."

"Good."

"I just... I can't believe I fell for it so easily. I shouldn't've listened to them."

The guilt in the pilot's voice was clear; Face frowned as he looked intently at his friend. "Murdock, like you said, you didn't think they had any reason to lie. And who knows what they could have drugged you with? They'd obviously planned that; I doubt they left a lot of room for failure. Honestly... And I hate to say it, but maybe it's better that you really thought... I mean... if you_ hadn't._.. They might have_ really_ killed you after they got what they wanted. Or worse. We've been through some tough times before, bud, but I don't know how I'd get through if you died."

The Captain smiled again, meeting his surrogate brother's compassionate gaze. "Same. I... I think some part of me, though... Part of me d-didn't believe it. I mean..." He tilted his head. "I didn't... have a breakdown or anything, at least."

Narrowing his eyes, the conman nodded with understanding. Throughout their friendship, Murdock had only had a few breakdowns. A handful, at most, though crippling depression cropped up sometimes as well. But through all that, Face had been there to help him, to get him through it. If Murdock had truly thought that his three best friends were all dead... and if Face wasn't there to help him through it...

The conman didn't even want to think about what would happen. Because honestly, Murdock might really go off the deep end.

"Hey," he said, drawing the pilot's attention, "I'm not going anywhere, alright? And neither are Hannibal or B.A. Quite honestly, I think the big guy might stick around just to torture you. And Hannibal... Well, I think he's attached to his cigars too much. As for me, I gotta stick around to take care of you. You're not gonna be alone like that ever again."

Murdock smirked, his brown eyes filled with gratitude. "Thanks, Face. Really."

The conman nodded, letting the comfortable silence grow between them as they turned back to the television. They watched in silence for several minutes before a loud yawn drew Face's attention to his friend once more. Rolling his eyes, the conman smiled.

"Why don't you hit the shower and go to sleep, Murdock? It's been a long day."

The pilot hummed in response. "Okay, Facey. I call..." He yawned again as he climbed off the bed. "...the bed by the window."

"You got it, bud," Face smirked.

Murdock closed the bathroom door behind him, and the conman heard the steady stream of water pour into the tub. Hopefully, the warmth would calm the Captain down and allow him a good night's rest before they got on the road tomorrow. A week's vacation was just what Murdock needed, and after that, Face would be sure to fill Dr. Richter in on all that happened. Even if the conman could always be in arm's reach, he would make sure someone he trusted was.

The door adjoining the two rooms squealed as it was pushed open. Face turned towards the noise, smiling as the Colonel strolled through the door and lite one of his famous cigars.

"How is he?" he asked, glancing in the direction of the bathroom.

Face pursed his lips, feeling a blush crawl up his neck. "Uh, how much did you hear, Hannibal?"

The Colonel drew his cigar away from his mouth, smirking. "Just about him getting in the shower and getting some rest. I was coming in here to tell you guys to get some sleep before we head out." At Faceman's pointed stare, he added, "Honest!"

"Fine," the con artist consented. "As for Murdock... He hit a bump. Actually, it was more of a mountain... but he'll pull through. He always does."

Hannibal nodded, though the distant look in his eyes said he wasn't in the hotel room. "Look after him, kid. He trusts you. More than anyone else. Don't give me that look, you know it's the truth," he smirked. "Just stick close to him, okay?"

Face glanced anxiously at the door to the bathroom. "That shouldn't be a problem. Murdock will barely let any of us out of his sight."

"Exactly. Let him get used to us being there again. Kid's already unstable. We don't need him going any further."

And though his words sounded hardened and Colonel-like, the conman outwardly grinned at the fatherly compassion lacing his words and the gentle look in his icy blue eyes.

"I gotcha," he answered, letting his eyes wander to the pilot's personalized "Da Nang 1970" jacket, which he'd left on his bed. "Trust me, Colonel, I'm never letting him out of my sight again."

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Like I said: bromance. Murdock and Face are pretty much brothers, so naturally I had to write them as such. :) Anyway, I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading!


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